


Severed

by Overly_Caffeinated



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Injury Recovery, Loss of Limbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overly_Caffeinated/pseuds/Overly_Caffeinated
Summary: It's somehow worse to slice into his skin and hear only the squelching of his flesh as it rips, his limp body the only company Maze has now that his screams are gone.
Relationships: Mazikeen & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89





	Severed

He doesn't speak at all, at first. 

Maze's best guess is that he's still in shock, so she awkwardly wraps him in another blanket. He would never let her do that, wouldn't stand for the indignity, and the fact that he only stares into space is telling her more than words could.

He slept for days, but most of that was just unconsciousness. She had to come back and wash away the blood, and she knows there was far too much for a human to survive. The sight that would never faze her before made her nauseous.

With a sigh, Maze steps to the side of Lucifer's bed where numerous bandages and towels already wait for her. She carefully starts removing the old ones, and she's relieved to see no blood soaked through this time.   
The wounds are like two gaping, red mouths of carnage. Skin puckered around the edges of the open flesh, dark with dried blood. The tiny feathers that grew along the edges were plucked out so that the skin could heal easier, and Maze knows they'll never grow back again now.

She takes a shaky breath and starts gently dabbing the wounds with a wet towel, watching as it grows darker with old blood. After she cleans it, she lifts Lucifer's torso just enough to wrap it in fresh bandages.

Perhaps, she can get him to eat something today.

_“I don't think I can do this.” She whispers, eyeing the curved blade glinting in his hands. His stare is determined and commanding as he pushes it towards her. It's an order, and her hands shake as she grabs it. They're always steady, but this is different from every guilty soul she's tortured before. It's someone she's sworn to protect._

_“Do it, Mazikeen.” he tells her. “Don't stop until you're done.”_

It's four days after the deed that he finally sits up. His arms spasm as newly useless muscles ripple across his back, so without prompting, Maze helps him. She doesn't mention the moan of pain that gets stuck halfway up his throat. He sits there awkwardly then, his arms lax at his sides and neck rigid. 

He sways as if a breeze could blow him over, lightheaded, and Maze wonders how much lighter his upper body is now. The wings were huge - they weren't heavy, but they weren't light either.

Lucifer doesn't get up that day yet. Mazikeen knows pain, and understands that Lucifer would rather feign stubbornness than let her hear him scream. At least, not so soon again.

_He gets down on his knees before her, a king kneeling before a servant. He takes his shirt off and folds it to the side, before he thinks and rips some fabric away to stuff it into his mouth._

_He makes it seem so mundane, and Maze knows this is only for her benefit. She lifts the blade to his right wing and he extends it before letting it fall, relaxing the wiry muscles. Her fingers grab at the shoulder joint and yank it back, exposing as much flesh as she can. Maze doesn't cry, not yet. Her sight needs to be clear for this. She can't afford to make a wrong cut._

_The knife is wickedly sharp, and it sinks in as easily as on a soul, the divinity of his celestial skin incapable of holding up against the tainted metal of hell. He makes a small, involuntary noise at the back of his throat. She doesn't comment, neither on it or on the pungent smell of his fear._

_She steels herself and cuts deeper. His muscles tense and a scream rips itself from his lips as dark blood spurts from the gaping cut. His wings flutter instinctively, and his flesh rips further at the action. Lucifer stops, trembling at the effort, and gets himself back on his knees._

_Maze feels like she's going to throw up. Her eyes water and tears slip down her face. She blinks furiously and steps forward to continue_.

He leans heavily on Maze as he takes the first steps from his bed. His legs wobble and he almost falls forward multiple times before finding a shaky equilibrium. He still can't lift his arms, and Maze is terrified of the possibility that he never will again.

His jaw is a tight line as he stumbles forward, his spine shuddering with each step. 

“You need to try and straighten up vertically,” She says weakly, lamely. As if he doesn't know, as if he isn't trying, but is too preoccupied by the agony ripping apart his body to focus on that.

He doesn't answer, but his teeth grind together. Lucifer's eyes are hard, determined, and filled with muzzled pain. It breaks Maze into pieces, the knowledge that she was the one who caused it.

He pushes against her a bit, and Maze reluctantly pulls away. She keeps her eyes on him, ready to catch him if he topples. He doesn't, and she's eternally grateful that he's spared the shame of it. Lucifer hates his own weakness.

He wobbles around the penthouse for almost an hour before he drags himself to bed and passes out from exhaustion. She goes to change his bandages then, looking at the inflamed, throbbing wounds. His moving caused some scabs to crack open, and they're oozing clear liquid, some of it blood. 

They're a strange sight like this, but Maze cares less about her reputation than Lucifer. Nobody's watching to see her gentleness as she ghosts over the disfiguring reminders of beauty that used to occupy those places.

Maze goes to look at them after she's done. They're still laying on the tarp she brought them in, their glow dull and lifeless without Lucifer's soul to flow through them. She weeps and strokes the white vanes, stained in blood. 

Unable to stand it, she gets a washcloth and painstakingly wipes it off before letting them dry and realigning all the feathers. 

_She sets her foot on his back and yanks at the limb with all her strength. With a gut-wrenching scream, it dislocates from the socket and flails in her arms before she kneels on top of Lucifer. He's sobbing and mumbling incoherently, barely aware of his surroundings, and Maze thinks that might be for the best._  
_She holds the wing up to sever it completely, and digs her fingers into the skin as they threaten to slip. The feathers are more red than white now, splattered with blood, and look almost black under the night sky._

_It's disturbing, how the limb separates completely from the fallen angel once she cuts through the last of the skin connecting it. She almost dropped it, and she felt the bones tug at the flesh, threatening to rip down Lucifer's back and leaving a far messier scar. Looking at it now, she sees she did a good job. She didn't miss, and with any luck the other one will look the same._

_Maze awkwardly folds the limp appendage and sets it on the tarp she brought and set aside. When she turns around, Lucifer has fallen still and quiet, and primal panic grips at her heart. She falls down into the blood soaked sand and feels for a pulse. It's there, weak but steady. He fell unconscious._

_With a sigh of relief she presses a relatively clean cloth to the horrific wound on his back to try and stem the flow of blood._  
_It does little._  
_She takes a deep breath and fumbles for her knife, wiping the sand off before kneeling down to start on the other wing. With any luck, Lucifer won't wake up until it's over_.

“I want to see them.” Lucifer says quietly. Maze nods and stands up slowly, giving him time to do the same. He still looks horrible. Pale, sweaty skin and bloodshot eyes framed by greasy hair. He can't shower, and he wouldn't let her wash him.

She leads him to them and watches his expression. It's some empty, horrifying thing, despair overshadowed by some forced feeling of sick satisfaction and Maze averts her gaze before he turns to her. He had said they would destroy them, before. He looks as nauseous as she feels. Before he can stop himself, he strokes down the feathers gently, almost lovingly. He pulls his hand away like they burned him. 

If he knows she groomed them, he doesn't comment on it.

“Put them somewhere safe,” He rasps and turns away to limp back to the main area. He's been getting faster, and his strides have lengthened. A day prior, he lifted a glass of whiskey and drank it.

Maze is still worried.

  
She stops being so gentle after a few days as he reluctantly asks her to help.

Maze steadies his shoulders as he makes long steps, almost running at times. He bows down, lifts his arms in front of him, rolls his head. Lucifer doesn't make a sound, but his eyes are leaking tears. His movements slow until it devolves into gently stretching.

He rolls his shoulders and almost screams. Maze growls at him for stretching the scars. She almost laughs in relief when he yells back at her.

  
“Swing! Come on, you can do better than that!” She roars. Lucifer pulls his arm back and hits her in the jaw. It's comparable to a ten-year-old human child, but at least he's moving. 

He's fallen down to the ground dozens of times, and he's clenched his jaw every single time, even almost biting off his tongue once, but he refused to scream. It makes Maze proud and pissed both at once, because he wouldn't have to keep from screaming if he didn't order her to do this in the first place.

Lucifer stumbles towards her and flails rather than doing any damage. Maze scoffs at him and taunts, but she smiles when his rage overshadows his pain and he throws himself on top of her.

His balance is damaged, his center of gravity shifted, but Maze thinks that with enough practice, Lucifer could eventually walk and run as he once did. But he would never fight as he did again.

She looks at her superior, the soldier who used to serve in the army of God Himself, who taught her everything she knows. From now on, Mazikeen will fight his battles for him.

_It's somehow worse to slice into his skin and hear only the squelching of his flesh as it rips, his limp body the only company Maze has now that his screams are gone._

_It takes a shorter time, but it's even more gruesome. She drags the last wing and wraps the dark tarp around them, making sure she can lift the bundle easily. She runs with them to their car and stores them before sprinting back to Lucifer with multiple blankets._

_He's still unconscious, laying in the black sand. He seems so small, crumpled in the blood that soaks his clothes. Maze wraps the blankets around him and carefully gets him to the car, laying him down on the back seat with his back up and turns the ignition key._

_She'll return for the blood later. There's a horrifying suspicion that Lucifer won't make it. She severed two arteries that pumped blood over limbs almost as thick as her thighs. There was a lot of blood._

_Lucifer doesn't wake up as she gets him to Lux and into his bed. He's silent and lays there like a puppet with it's strings cut - and isn't that thought fitting, she thinks - as she cleans him up and bandages him._

_She hopes to actual God this was worth it._


End file.
